Meant To Kill, Meant To Win
by unicornsontherun
Summary: How can the Games change someone who's meant for it? Mostly Clove's POV with a bit of Cato's. Book ending and alternate ending.
1. Chapter 1: Reaping Day

A/N: I do not own the beautiful creation of Suzanne Collins's known as The Hunger Games.

Please review. I can handle harsh criticism, so if it's bad please let me know.

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><p>My alarm goes off. 6:30. Later than usual, but hey it's Reaping Day and I deserve extra sleep now and then. I quickly rise out of bed, grab a change of clothes, and head off to the shower. Here in District 2, Reaping Day is considered a holiday. Everyone is always in a good mood. Always. Even the parents, who are never fearful of their child being reaped. No, it's more of an honor acually. There's a copious amount of pride every District 2 citizen has. You can feel it in the air. If you're ever in District 2, you'll know it. Everywhere you go there's banners hanging all over sporting the District 2 seal. District 2 is known as the Masonry district, but we are also the ones manufacturing the weapons and training the Peacekeepers. Maybe because as a district we are the only ones trusted by the Capitol not to rebel.<p>

After my shower I head downstairs and to the kitchen. I fry up some eggs and bacon. My father walks in just as I finish eating.

"Somebody's running a little late today," my father jokes. He knows it is Reaping Day, so I don't have to be anywhere. Well, yet at least.

We don't say anything else as I put my dirty dishes in the sink to be washed and my father puts his breakfast together. My father is one of the districts many Peacekeepers. He was allowed to stay in the district unlike most Peacekeepers trained here because he had a child. When I was very young I never thought of asking why he was allowed to have a child when Peacekeepers are not supposed to be allowed childern or even to marry. When I was eight and I learned about being a Peacekeeper in school I had to ask my father why he was given this special privelage. He told me it was because I needed a father, so he made a promise that he now regrets. I pressed further, I asked him what the promise was, and for the first time I asked him if I had a mother. I never thought it important until then, because there were other childern I knew without mothers, some without fathers. He looked down at the mention of mother, a deep hurt in his eyes, but when he looked back up at me it was replaced by a serious look and he said, "No, just a foolish father." I accepted his answer, maybe too readily, but I didn't know any other way. I still don't. I asked him again about the promise he made and why he regrets it, but all he would tell me was that I would find out one day and that "sometimes the present danger feels too unbearable that you underestimate the power of the future consequence." Before I could say anything else he distracted my attention by giving me some new knives to try out, which I eagerly did. As a Peacekeeper my father has access to many weapons and so he became the instigator of my 1,093 knife collection. And now I always carry a knife on me. But I won't tell anyone where. That's for me to know and some unlucky person to find out. The Hard Way.

I go down to the basement, which is basically a range. There are several dummies, some sationary, some that move, and they're all at different heights and distances. I spend some time throwing knives at the dummies. I feel in tune with the knives. They're part of me. And I'm part of them. Nothing is more natural to me. I hit all of the targets exactly where I aim, heart, head, lungs, knee, etc. I'm enjoying the practice. The Art. But I feel like it's not enough. I need something to satisfy me. To satisfy my thirst. The thirst I've grown to have. Grown to know. Grown to crave. So, I head out and walk outside of the village I live in within the district until I come across three birds perched on a small tree. Wrens by the look of it. I look around to see if there is anybody in sight. There's no one. They're small birds, but I'm a good shot, so I take out three knives that I have hidden on my person. Illegal? Yes. Do I Care? No. Sure most people caught doing this would be pubically hanged, but I'm one of the few exceptions to the rule. If I was caught, then the people would turn a blind eye. After all they want to win the Hunger Games and I'm the best female in the district. I pick up a rock and toss it at the birds to scare them into flight. I give them a second before I toss my knives. One. Two. Three. And they're down.

Each bird is about five feet from the next. I move the birds next to each other and take the knives out of their lifeless bodies. I slice the necks open and cut the wings and legs off each wren just to watch them bleed. A sadistic smile spreads across my face as I watch the blood drain from the last wren. Blood, the sweet, sticky sap of life. A truely wonderful sight. My favorite color. My favorite sight. There's something about killing that's so attractive to me. Knowing I was the one to end a life brings me a sick pleasure. Joy. My district is the one to blame, though; because I've been trained for the Hunger Games, it has caused me to associate blood with happiness. They do try to train us to separate the Games from life, though, and if they didn't this district would have a bunch of sadistic kids running around, which would be problematic. I wipe the blades off on my black pants and head back to my house to ready myself for the reaping.

I wash off any sign of blood and outdoors on my face and arms. I put on my reaping clothes, which is just jeans, a black shirt splattered with red that stands out in the sunlight, and black fingerless leather gloves. It's not fancy or anything, but if I get reaped, I wanna look fierce. Intimidating. Not like some weak girly girl. I wanna be the tribute no one wants to mess with.

After eating a quick lunch I go to the district square where I meet up with my father briefly. He is in his Peacekeeper uniform and tells me good luck. I head off to the spot designated for seventeen year olds. Luck is exactly what I need, too. Already the square is buzzing with excitement. Attendance to the Reaping is required by law, but no one here would miss it anyways. Behind me stand all the younger children who are more of spectators, since an eighteen year old will quickly volunteer if any of them are reaped. As for me, my only chance of being a tribute is if my name is drawn. I plan on volunteering, but not until next year. But, since I am the best female in the district anyone who volunteers for me will be immediately booed and their family literally treated like shit. It will be viewed as an act of treason, as if volunteering to fight for our district is betrayal. Here we want our best to be in the Games. We want victory. Next year I will be expected to volunteer if I'm not reaped. That expectation is still here today, but I have one more year. One more year to get Better. One more year to get Stronger. One more year to Win.

Once the clock strikes one it is time to start. The mayor of the district, a large man with white hair and a white beard tells us about Panem's history. I've heard it so many times before, studied it in school, that I zone out and stare at one of the glass balls containing the names of all the twelve through eighteen year olds of a specific sex. Eventually he gets to reading the names of our 22 past victors, but I don't notice. It's all just noise to me. One of our past victors, Enobaria, introduces Mace Medallion who simply says, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor," with exaggarted joy. With that he saunters to the glass ball containing the male names. In District 2 our male tribute is always selected first. He selects a name near the bottom of the ball before sauntering back over to the podium. He opens the neatly folded slip of paper and exclaims, "Toby Martson."

Toby Martson, a younger tribute somewhere behind me, probably doesn't even move before an impatient eighteen year old male shouts, "I volunteer," and rushes to the stage. "My name is Cato Colt and I volunteer as tribute."

I know Cato and it's no surprise to me or anyone else that he has volunteered. However, since we try to be pretty formal with the volunteering concept in District 2, Mace Medallion has young Toby Martson, who looks about fourteen, come up to the top of the stage just to ask him a question with an obvious answer before Cato is officially a tribute. "Do you, Toby Martson, accept Cato Colt as your replacement as the male tribute for District 2?"

"I do."

The crowd erupts into hoots and hollers; they're pleased with the volunteer. He's exactly who they want. Mace Medallion tries to quiet down the crowd, but it is evidant that it won't work; so he waits it out.

Once the crowd quiets down, Mace Medallion saunters over to the other glass bowl, the one containing my name six times. All I can think is _please don't be me, please don't be me._ I want this, but not this year. No, next year. He selects a name on the very top, almost as if he were selecting a specific one. He saunters back to the podium, unfolds the paper and announces, "Clove Coleman."


	2. Chapter 2: The Train Ride

In my head I scream, "No!," but on my face you can't tell that I don't want this. I give a confident look, one that looks like I'm honored, because in reality I should be. But I'm not. I reach the top of the stage. The crowd is cheering loudly for me, so Mace Medallion has to wait before he asks, "Would anyone like to volunteer and take Clove Coleman's place as the female tribute for District 2?" When no one responds he asks one more time to be sure, but no one volunteers. The mayor takes over from there and begins to read the Treaty of Treason, but I don't pay attention. I'm too busy trying to maintain my Strong demeanor, while thinking about how I don't want to have to go against Cato; but there's nothing I can do, so I will just have to accept that fact.

Cato is my ex, well not officically since we never actually broke up, but a couple months back we stopped interacting with one another. It was a mutual thing. Or at least I think it was. Cato was going to volunteer for the Games and since there was the possibility that I could be reaped, we didn't want things to be complicated; even though they will be anyways. We stopped having any contact, so we could forget about the other faster. It was a mutual thing, but it might have just been me, since we never actually discussed these things. It might have just been me hoping to ease the pain if he did die. But I don't think anything can do that. I had it all planned out, too. How I would see Cato before he left. Give him a kiss, a hug, and tell him to go and kick some ass. But no, now I'm a tribute and one of us will die. It doesn't feel fair, but that's how things are.

Once the mayor finishes the Treaty of Treason he has Cato and I shake hands. His hand is strong and too familiar. I try my best to give him a look of, "you're dead," so he knows I plan on winning the Games. The look Cato gives me is strong and confident and I know he plans on winning, too, but I can't let that happen. I have to win, even if that means killing someone I care deeply about. One of the only two people I care about.

We turn and face the crowd. They're cheering loudly and I can barely hear the anthem of Panem playing in the background. Once the barely audible anthem finishes we are escorted by my father and other Peacekeepers into the Justice Building and into our separate rooms. The room has a crimson carpet, and velvet couches and chairs that match.

I sit there only a few minutes before my father comes in. I expect him to look proud. And he should be too. After all his daughter is going to be the victor of the 74th Hunger Games. But instead he looks..._saddened? _It confuses me for a moment, but I decide it's because of the possibility of losing me that saddens him. That this could be the last time he sees me, so I pardon him for his inability to hold back a weak emotion. I've been taught to be Strong so I hold others to that standard as well. My father immediately starts talking stategy with me. Things to remember, things to do, who to align with, when to turn my back on them, and above all: Kick everyone's ass and come home. A Peacekeeper comes to the door, it's time for my father to go. He pulls me into a hug and whispers, "I'm sorry Clove." Sorry for what? Me becoming a victor? The hug lasts for a few more seconds, my father is obviously cherishing this moment and I let him, afterall this could be the last time he sees me. Before he pulls away he whispers one more thing in my ear, "don't forget who you are." He puts a necklace with three throwing knives dangling in front of the District 2 seal in my right hand, and then walks out the door.

How could I forget who I am? I'm Clove Coleman. Nothing can take that away from me. I've heard that the Games change people, but how can it change someone who's meant for it. Meant to Kill. Meant to Win.

My uncle Cleav walks in. He's a big tough guy and a past Hunger Games victor. "Listen," he says and I do. When he speaks you listen. "I'm not gonna waste your time telling you all about strategy. There's just one thing I want you to do." Every part of my attention is on him. He's won before, so he's gotta have some solid points and strategic plans. "Don't take Cato to Final 2 with you. He'll be a good ally, but kill him before it's too late. It's your best chance at winning." Hmph, I don't know what he's talking about. I can take Cato. Easily. "I mean it. So get your head outta your ass and listen to me. If you take Cato to the end with you, then you're as good as dead. Do you wanna win or not?"

"Yes, I wanna win and I will win," I say to him confidently.

"Then do as I say."

"I will."

"Good. I expect to see you in a month and not in a wooden box, either." With that Uncle Cleav exits the room. I sit for about a minute until another person comes to talk to me.

This time it's my friend Trix. She's weaker than me. Hell, most people are weaker than me. Trix, however, would have made a great tribute. She is strong, skillful, and sadistic. Like me. Only weaker.

"Thought I'd drop in and say good luck."

"Like I'll need it," I scoff. I needed luck earlier, but not anymore.

"Kill some tributes for me."

"You know I will."

"Oh and one last thing."

"Yeah?"

"Win."

"Plan on it."

Trix gives me a quick hug before saying, "see ya around," and walking out. Did she really just hug me? I can't believe she just hugged me. It's one thing for my father to hug me, but her? It's just too weird.

Shortly after Trix's strange action, I am taken from the Justice Building and brought to the train station, along with Cato. Soon we are both on the train, which begins moving at once. At 250 miles per hour we will be at the Capitol in two hours. Max. Mace Medallion shows us to our rooms. He says that everything is at my disposal and that we will watch the recap of the reapings at the Capitol. I spend most of that thinking about Cato.

I first met Cato five months before the 72nd Hunger Games. It was after one of my training sessions. I had just walked out of the women's shower room and turned the corner when I ran straight into Cato.

"Get outta my way," I lashed out.

He smirked and said, "What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Fuck off," I said, my voice radiating hatred and coldness.

I shouldered past Cato, and heard him say, "a fiesty one."

The next time I saw him was at the training center two weeks later. I finished my session and opened the door to leave, but there he was standing in my way.

"I believe we've met before," he said.

"And I believe I told you to fuck off."

"What did you say you're name was?"

"I didn't."

"I can stand here all day," he challenged.

"I can kill you in two seconds," I countered.

"I'd like to see that happen."

"It's on."

And with that I turned around and he followed. Once we were both near the center of the gym, I spun on my heel and threw the first punch, but he knew it was coming. He grabbed my fist and flipped me on the ground. I jumped up. He swung hard. I bent back, his fist grazed above my face. I straightened. He sent his other hand in an uppercut. I jumped back, but with his long arm span his right hand jab hit me. He went for another quick jab, but I ducked. I came up fast and hard, my fist connecting with his jaw. He staggered back a step. My quick jab smacked his face. He caught my next fist and sent me to the ground again, but I quickly rose.

Our fight continued for another fifteen minutes, both of us landing many hard blows on the other, but I took much more of a beating. Finally, Cato was able to pin me down on the ground. We both had blood all over, everywhere on my body ached, but I wouldn't let myself think about that at all. I couldn't, I wasn't a weakling, and now was not a time for that.

"Looks like I won," he said with a smug look. He wasn't careful, not anymore at least, since he won. I was able to knee him in the balls, flip him on his back, and put one of my hidden knives at his neck in one fluent motion.

"I could end your life right now if I wanted to," I hissed. I knew that I had truly lost that match, and I hated and still hate losing. He was the strongest opponent I ever had and I had to prove I was Stronger. Tougher. Better.

"Then do it," he snarled.

It didn't feel like me when I said, "how 'bout this. You help me become stronger and I'll let you live." It sounded weak. Not me. It wasn't me. But I said it.

"That's what your trainer is for," he growled. It's true that is what my trainer is for, but she wouldn't let me fight against the stronger, older male trainees. Something about me being snapped like a twig. Whatever.

"Listen, you either agree to helping me become stronger, or I will slice your neck right now."

"Fine! I'll help you!" he barked at me.

"Good," I said getting up off of him.

We decided that we would keep our training sessions together a secret and meet only once a week. It was then that I looked around and realized we were completely alone in the gym. There were no trainers, which means Cato didn't have a session right now like I had thought. I was about to ask him why he was here, but when I turned to face him, he was gone. And I still have never asked him.

We would meet on Wednesdays at 1:00 in the morning, so no one would know about our secret arrangement. At first we would just meet for an hour and spar, but after a month of this we actually started to talk about our families.

"So,do you have any siblings?"

"No, it's just me and my father. What about you?"

"What about your mother?"

"I don't have one."

"You don't have a mother? Of course you do."

"I told you, I don't have one."

"Did something happen to her?"

"Listen, I don't have a mother. Never did. Never will."

"Okay."

After a moment of silence I continued the conversation. "You never told me if you had any siblings."

"I've got a little brother, Cain is his name."

"What's he like?"

"Innocent, like we all were at that age."

Soon, though, I opened up and trusted him with a secret of mine, and he trusted me with a secret of his. Our hour sparring session turned into a two hour thing. One hour for sparring. One hour for talking. He was still that guy I told to fuck off, but there was something different. Something more about him. Something new, something..._good. _He was someone I could talk to now. Someone who I felt would listen to whatever I said. He was someone I felt I could trust. The only person I felt I could trust. The only person who I actually wanted to know me. Sure, Trix was my friend, but we were more like partners in crime. We didn't actually know each other, and I didn't want her to know me. But there was something about Cato that made me want to open up. And because of that every once in a while I would skip a sparring session. Cato never questioned why, though.

And then one day, a couple months after the 72nd Hunger Games were over, we were sparring and I was able to pin Cato down. I held my arm down tightly on his neck for six seconds before letting up.

"You're Dead," I announced happy that I won for once. I was Strong. Stronger than Cato. I won. He lost. I proved my dominance. I was victorious.

Cato, catching his breath managed to choke out, "if I'm dead...then I can...do whatever I want." What happened next caught me by surprise. Cato, his hands not being restrained, grabbed my face and pulled his lips to mine. At first I was shocked. Stunned. But then I kissed back and he let go. He looked in my eyes and asked, still out of breath, "is that a...yes to being my...girlfriend?" I didn't say yes or no, I just crashed my lips down on his, but we both knew what I ment. If you think about it, we never were actually a couple.

It's when Mace Medallion tells me we have reached the Capitol that I realize I've been sitting on my bed, clutching the necklace my father gave me and have probably been like that for the whole two hours.

**CATO'S POV**

Mace Medallion shows me to my room and says that I should be able to find anything I could possibly want right now within it. But that's a lie, because I want a person here with me, and the person I want isn't here. No, instead she's in her own room plotting how to kill me. I saw that look she gave me. How someone so beautiful and seemingly seraphic could be so evil, I'll never know. But that's part of the reason I fell in love with her, I guess. The other part is because she is so independent. She doesn't need anyone, not even me. But I want her to need me. You could say she needed me to become stronger, but really she could have used anyone to help her with that. I was a tool she just tossed aside when she was finished using me. She does something to me, something I just don't understand. Somehow when I'm with her, I get weaker. I'm still really strong. I can break a man's jaw easily, but hers I can't. I never lose, except the few times she has beaten me. She gets stronger when she fights me, too. It's the urgency to beat me, I think. To prove she doesn't need me, but I want her to need me.


	3. Chapter 3: Recaps and Strategys

**CLOVE'S POV**

We watch the recap of the reapings on the second floor of the Training Center, which is a floor exclusively for District 2. Our mentors for the Games, Enobaria and Brutus, watch with us.

I watch as two people get reaped, and then two others volunteer in District 1. I can take them both. Easily. But I make note of their names, since they have most likely trained for the games, too, I'll want to make an alliance with them. Marvel and Glimmer. Glimmer. What kind of name is that anyways? She sounds weak. Real weak. Then, I watch as Cato volunteers. You can tell that he is very strong with his muscular build and his light and stubby facial hair only adds to his tough appearance. But I can beat him. I have before and I will again. I realize that this is the first time I've actually really looked at Cato for two months, and it's on a tv screen when I've got the real thing sitting in the same room as me. I feel satisfied. So far I haven't let my emotions take over. I'm keeping my head in the game. I'm in control. I watch as I get reaped. I feel satisfied seeing how well I kept my composure. How confident I look. Intimidating. I will be feared by the other tributes.

There's nothing special about District 3's tributes and I don't bother remembering their names. In District 4, the male tribute reaped doesn't recieve a volunteer, but the female tribute does. The tributes, Rush and Morgan, have swimmer's builds. They don't stand a chance against me, but like District 1, they have probably trained for these games and would make worthy allies.

I don't pay attention to the names of the other tributes. They're just prey. Toys to play with. In District 10 a crippled boy becomes a tribute. Talk about easy pickings. Pathetic. In District 11 the male tribute is compariable to Cato in stature, but a bit bigger. Oh, just how much fun I will have killing him. I can't wait. I can't wait to watch his blood ooze out of his lifeless body. It's all too exciting for me.

For maybe the first time ever a tribute volunteers in District 12. It's a definite death sentence for her. No one even cheers for her, it's just some weird salute. They know she will die. It's inescapable.

Once the recap is over we go to the dining room and eat. Basically there's whatever we could possibly want. And if there's not, then it's made and brought out. Pronto. Mace Medallion sits at the head of the table with Enobaria and Brutus on one side and Cato and me on the other. I find this setup to be awkward, but I suppose anything to do with Cato right now will be awkward. I mean. Hey, I really care about you and all, but I'm gonna let you die within a month. I might even kill you myself.

I can't help, but feel Cato's presence next to me the whole time I eat. Every move he makes. I notice. I can't help it, but wonder if it's the same for him. I try to shake the thoughts out of my head. My emotions are beginning to take over and I can't let that happen if I'm going to win, which I'm going to, then I can't be thinking about him. Just me. Only me. That's all.

But it's so much harder than it seems. This is my first boyfriend. My only boyfriend. Or at least the closest thing I've ever had to a boyfriend. My first kiss. Holder of my V-card. Keeper of some of my secrets. My best friend. Wednesdays at 1:00. Sneaking off on Fridays. Leaving my window open on Saturdays. A person I truly care about. The person I would want to grow old with. My secret. OUR secret. Everything.

Eventually we finish eating and our mentors usher us into the room we watched the reapings in.

"Brutus and I had a discussion on the train and we have decided that I will focus on mentoring you, Clove, and he will focus on you, Cato," Enobaria tells us once we are all settled. Again I had to sit next to Cato, but this time we sit at opposite ends of a couch. "Any objections?"

Of course there's no objections. I want Enobaria to be my mentor. She won the games before. And her speciality is knives. Plus, she won her Games by ripping a guy's throat out with her teeth. And that is Awesome. Win-win in my book. And plus Brutus would make for a better mentor for Cato, too. Win-win for him, I guess.

"Is that all?" questions Cato.

"No," answers Brutus with authority, "What are your thoughts on forming an alliance with Districts 1 and 4."

"I was planning on it," responds Cato.

"Good. You should put that together as soon as you can. And I suspect that you are also planning on this alliance or do you plan on becoming target number 1?" asks Brutus, his gaze on me.

"Of course I'm going to be in this alliance. I want to win," I reply with matter-of-factness.

"Smart choice, Coleman," says Brutus, "now for both of you, I don't want to see either of you turning on each other as long as there are still tributes from 1 and 4 alive. Kill them before killing each other. You two understand?"

"Yes Sir," both Cato and I respond sincerely. Hey, just cause I'm a killer doesn't mean I don't respect people. Especially victors.

"If 1 and 4 join the alliance, then I expect you two to be smart enough not to turn on them right away," adds Enobaria.

"I won't," I say, "like I said before, I want to win."

"I do too," comments Cato. I turn my head to look at him. He is lurched forward with his elbows resting on his legs, and his hands together. He is also looking at me with a serious look on his face. All I want to do is sit right next to him, hold his hand, maybe a kiss here and there. I quickly look back at Enobaria before any of that happens.

"Good," she says, "we want another victor."

"Is that all then," I ask.

"Yes," she answers smoothly.

I get up and walk to the room that has been assigned to me. I need to come up with a strategy. Here and Now. I walk inside my room, but I don't take in the surroundings. I just find the bed and sit down on it. I know I can kill Cato easily, but I need to detach myself from him emotionally. I can't feel like kissing him whenever I look at him. Shit. What am I going to do. Is this a weakness? Do I have a weakness? No, I am Strong. I don't have weaknesses. I can't have a weakness. I can't afford it. My father spent too much time drilling in my head the importance of being Strong. Of not having weaknesses. Of Winning. Then I remember his words, "I'm sorry," and it all makes sense. The reason he wanted me to be Strong. To win so badly. It's because he knew I would be in the Games. No Matter What. "Sometimes the present danger feels too unbearable that you underestimate the power of the future consequence." That's what he once told me, but I didn't understand it then. Now I do. At least I think I do. He was only allowed to keep me because he promised I would be a tribute in the Games one day. He promised because at the moment he couldn't bear to think of someone else raising me. Me being an orphan. He couldn't bear it. He wanted to protect me. To be there for me. But now he regrets it because now I could die. Because of a promise he made. The way Mace Medallion seemed to pick a specific slip of paper. This was the year to get me in, without suspicion. It just makes sense. I'm not sure if I should be mad or happy. I'm not really sure right now.

I hear a knock on the door. I get up and go to it. It's Enobaria. "Yes?" I ask.

"I would like to talk a bit of strategy with you," she commands.

"Make alliance. Kill 1 and 4 before Cato, but wait until near the end. I got it," I say quickly.

"That's good and all that you remember, but I want to talk about your real strategy."

"Oh, well then what's the plan?" I ask, but Enobaria just barges past me into my room. I shut the door and follow her into the room and sit back down on the bed.

"Okay so listen here," says Enobaria, "you will join the alliance, but under no circumstances are you to take Cato to final 2 with you. If there's a final 2. It might be more of a final 4 for all we know."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"Kill him before it's just you two. He's your only real competition. I know you can take everyone else."

"What makes him so special? 'Cause I know I can take him. Easily."

"Because Clove, he's from your district. It's harder to kill someone when you know them, when you will see his family and friends all over District 2. It could be the difference between victory and death." For some reason I think she knows more about my relationship with Cato than she's telling me. But how? We kept it a secret. We were sneaky. How could she know?

"What difference will it make? I'll still kill him," I point out.

"One-second hesitation. That's all it takes. If it's between you and him and you hesitate for a second because you know him, because you love him," she says, emphasizing 'love.'

"I DO NOT LOVE HIM," I stand up yelling. I don't love anyone. Love is for the weak, and I'm not weak.

"It sure looked like it to me," says Enobaria,"and that's what'll probably kill you in the arena."

"But I don't love him," I say, hoping she will get it. That I don't love Cato. And then I realize what she said, "What are you talking about? What did you see?"

"Nothing much, just a couple of lovebirds kissing and talking really early one Wednesday morning. You had me fooled for a bit, thinking you were over him. Then, I saw how you looked at him during our group discussion and realized you weren't."

"Oh," I say. Shit, someone knew. Someone knows. Someone saw through my disguise. Has anyone else? And what was she doing there at 2 o'clock in the morning?

"That's why it's so important that he's dead before then, Clove. One-second hesitation and you might as well be dead."

"You're saying I'm weak, aren't you? You think I'm weak, don't you? Well, I'm not fucking Weak!" I say getting defensive. How dare she call me weak! I am the polar opposite of weak. I am Strong. Not weak. Clove Coleman is not weak, she is Strong.

"I didn't say you were weak. You're incredibly strong, Clove. I just want you to win."

"Well I will win. You can count on it."

"Are you going to follow my strategy?"

"If that's how you think I will win."

"It is."

"Then I will."

"If Brutus or Cato ask about your strategy, stick with the first one."

"I will."

With that Enobaria walks out of my room. I smash the lamp off the nightstand. She thinks I'm weak! I know she does. I take out one of my hidden knives and throw it at the opposite wall. I'll show her. I'll show her just how Strong I am. I'm going take Cato to the end with me. And then I'll kill him. Without hesitation. "Fuck!" I grab my head with my hands. I didn't think about that, though. What if I do hesitate? I can't. I can't risk it. What if Brutus talked to him. Told Cato to kill me right away. I can't hesitate when Cato's going to kill me. I have to react. Kill him before he kills me. I decide to take a shower, hoping it will help me think clearly. But it doesn't. Why does having to kill someone you care about have to be so fucking hard and complicated? I put on some shorts and a tanktop from the closet, put my hidden blades on my nightstand, and lay down on the bed. I just try to clear my mind. It takes awhile, my mind is absorbed with Cato and the Games, but eventually I fall asleep.

**CATO'S POV**

I walk down the hallway to where Clove's room is at. I need to talk to her, I think. I'm not quite sure, but I feel I do. I'm almost to Clove's door when Enobaria walks out.

"I don't think this would be a good time for you to see her," she says strictly. I hear something break in Clove's room. I wanna go in and see what's going on, but Enobaria just stands there, waiting for me to turn around.

"I was just going for a walk around the floor," I say trying to seem unsuspicious, though I already am.

"Really now?" Enobaria clearly sees through my bad lie. I get her hint, though, she doesn't want me talking to Clove, not privately at least.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to go check out the roof." I turn around and head to the elevator.

I spend very little time on the roof. There's not anything that I find particularly exciting up there anyways. Back in my room I decide I need to come up with my own plan. Screw everyone else, I'm making my own plans. No matter what I do I don't think I could kill Clove, not as easily as she could kill me at least. She will do whatever it takes to win. To her there's no other option, but me I don't think I can. Maybe that's the biggest difference between us. She isn't afraid to kill anyone, whereas I'm afraid to kill her. Maybe it's because she feels she has everything to prove, and I don't want to know what it feels like to lose someone. She was raised with just a father, who spent most of his time enforcing the law, killing when necessary, supplying her with weapons, and pushing her to train hard and work hard to become a Hunger Games victor. Her father's parents both passed on through natural causes, one being a victor, and her only other relative known to her is her uncle Cleav, another victor. Winning is in her blood. Half her family were winners, and so will she. Then there's me, I have two parents, neither winners, a younger brother, and four living and breathing grandparents, of which only one was a victor. I have cousins and aunts and uncles, too. I have a family, whereas she only has a father and an uncle, who both push winning. No wonder she's so willing to kill. It's her whole life, her destiny, the thing she was raised to do. The thing she's meant to do. And me, well, I have my whole family, who support any decisions I make. I wanted to follow in my grandpa's footsteps and win a Games, but now I'm against Clove and I'm not so sure anymore. How do you kill someone you love?


	4. Chapter 4: The Tribute Parade

**CLOVE'S POV**

I wake up and see a lonely knife stuck in the wall. I'm a tribute. I'm going to be a victor. Shit. I still have Cato to worry about. What is he going to do in the arena? I have no idea. I put on a pair of skinny jeans and a red shirt. I contemplate on if I should bring my knives with me or not, but eventually decide against it since today I will be 'remade.' I walk out to the dining area, and see that no one is up yet. Just me. I put bacon, ham, and some other unrecognizable meat on my plate, along with some eggs, toast, and pancakes on another plate. Sometime soon after I officially begin eating, Cato comes in. It feels extremely weird, but I'm going to have to get used to that, because quite frankly he's my ally. And I'll be spending quite some time with him, so I better just suck it up. Cato, like always, is looking very attractive. He has a rough and tough appearance, and his scruffy facial hair definitely makes him look even more attractive to me.

Cato piles food onto three plates, and I continue stuffing my face. And then, out of nowhere, Cato speaks, "So, how have you been?"

I want to tell him that I've missed his company, greatly, but that would make me sound weak. And I'm not weak. So, instead I say, "Well, recently I've been reaped as tribute for the Hunger Games."

"How strange, I'm a tribute, too," says Cato lightly. He then adds, on a more serious note, "and only one of us can live."

I want to tell him about my realization yesterday. About how no matter what I would have been put in the Games, but I can't. I can't tell Cato anything anymore. He's not my friend. He's my enemy. So I say, "Sorry to burst your bubble Cato, but that will be me."

"Oh really cause I already booked my ticket back to District 2." He says giving me one of his classic smirks.

"I've already picked out my house in Victor's Village," I tell him, giving him my own little smirk.

"Don't get too cocky now Coleman, you haven't won yet," says a voice I know belongs to Brutus. I send a death glare in Brutus' direction, but he doesn't see it, because he is too busy picking out the food he wants to eat. Cato sees the look, though, and he shakes his head slightly at me, holding back a smile. Oh, Cato. Why do you have to make it so hard to kill you? Enobaria walks in the room with Mace Medallion tagging along.

"Oh good," says Mace, "They're up. They've got a big day ahead."

The three adults fill their plates. There is a light amount of chit-chat while we eat that is mostly due to Mace. Once we finish eating, Cato and I are brought to the Remake Center. I let my prep team do whatever the hell they want, since my remake process will probably go faster that way. After listening to their annoying chatter and gossip for about five minutes I zone out into my own mind.

I think about Cato, how only one of us can live. I think about our short conversation this morning. It seemed easy and just playful banter, even though only one of us will live. Can live. Then I remember the deal we once made and my mind flashes to that memory of us, sitting in my bedroom late at night. He asked me when I planned on volunteering for the Games, and I told him when I was eighteen. "Good," he said, "'Cause I'm volunteering this year and I don't want to go against you."

Part of me was joking and part of me was being serious when I replied, "Why? 'Cause you know I'll kill you?"

He flashed a smile at me, knowing part of it was me joking around. That smile, though, was quickly replaced by a very serious look. He told me, "Well, one of us would have to kill the other. 'Cause I would damn sure keep you safe from the other tributes."

I looked at him, his dark brown eyes on the brink of black soaking me in. I glanced down at his hard but warm and inviting lips before saying, "It seems silly to keep someone alive just so they can kill you later."

His stone cold expression didn't falter when he said, "If I can't win, then I want you to."

My eyes were still locked on his face, his expression still stony. I said, "Deal, we take each other to the end" and it was followed by an immediate "Deal," and our lips meeting.

After that night I kept telling myself I had to stop seeing Cato, in case that scenario did happen. Like it did. But I couldn't commit to it. Not until three months later. I'm not sure if that deal means anything anymore. But I guess upholding that deal means more to me than what I said to Uncle Cleav and Enobaria. I will not do as they say. I will save Cato. Keep him safe. So no matter what, I will make sure Cato comes to the end with me. Even though that means I will have to kill him myself. I just hope Cato upholds his end of the deal.

"Clove!," I hear someone yell and I snap out of my thought. The voice belongs to one of the people on my prep team.

"Yeah," I say, not really focusing on them. I'm still trying to think about that deal.

"You're ready for Yeven now," says the same voice, which belongs to a lady with skin a slight shade of baby blue, "He's your stylist."

The prep team leaves and my stylist Yeven comes moments later. Yeven examines my naked body and I have to really hold myself back from kicking the shit out of him for it. It is his job, but I still don't like it. Once Yeven is done either admiring my body or making sure the prep team did everything, he begins putting me in my costume. Since District 2 is publicly displayed for masonry, the idea behind my outfit has something to do with it. I have been dressed up like a statue. I think it is meant to look fierce or something, because my muscles are emphasized. Even my abs are emphasized. My face and visible body parts, which include my feet and arms, are made to look as if they were chiseled out of marble.

I like my costume. It's better than being naked. Better than being a tree. Better than being whatever District 12 comes up with. So, I'm pleased. My costume shows I'm fierce. Intimidating. Strong. Strong just like stone. And just as hard. I am brought to the stables where the horses pulling the chariots await. Cato is wearing a similar costume. The horses of our chariot are gray. Yeven and Cato's stylist tell us how they want us to sit in the chariot. Once we get in they have to readjust us to their liking. Once they are satisfied they walk off.

"It could've been worse," says Cato, "It could've been a lot worse."

I silently chuckle, "We got it good. Beats being a cow."

"Beats being a sparkling fairy prince and princess."

"Oh I'd hate to be that."

"Me too."

The chariot in front of us with the District 1 sparkling fairy prince and princess starts moving, along with our own chariot. As soon as we are in view of the audience, they begin chanting, "District 2." Cato and I keep our heads high, and fail to acknowledge the audience. I put a Strong look on my face and keep it there. The other districts steal some of our glory when their chariots come into view. But amongst the cheers for the other districts are the cheers for Cato and I. "Cato, Clove, Cato, Clove" they chant, but then, as if we were suddenly put in some alternate reality, the cheers for the other districts and the chants for Cato and me turn into cheers and shouts for..._District 12. _I'm taken by surprise. District 12? I turn my head to look at the screen. What I see is District 12 in costumes that aren't degrading them for once. They are on Fire. It looks completely badass. But I hate it. No one. I mean no one is going to remember me now. That I looked Strong or fierce. All they will remember is District 12. The Tributes On Fire. My hatred for the girl deepens as I watch. She waves her hand and blows kisses to the crowd. They are eating her up, cheering her name. She has stolen all of my spotlight. She will die. Painfully.

Eventually the chariots fill up the loop of the City Circle. President Snow gives the official welcome and after going around the loop one last time, our chariot goes back into the Training Center. I glare at the District 12 tributes, letting all of my hatred flow into it. I turn to face Cato and I see a murderous look on his face aimed rightfully at District 12. Our prep teams and stylists are here, trying to help us out of the chariot, though we both refuse the help. They chat wildly about the flaming costumes of Twelve.

After we go back to our floor. After Mace Medallion talks to us, tells us we did good, that if it wasn't for District 12 we would have been the favorites. After Enobaria and Brutus tell us we could of done better. After they shoot some maledictions towards Twelve. After we're told that we will still have plenty of sponsors because of our skill. After we eat. After Enobaria asks about my speciality with knives. After she tells me the first training session is tomorrow and to be intimidating, as if she even needed to tell me that. After all that. I am able to go to the room assigned to me. I am about to go in when a voice stops me, "Clove." It belongs to Cato and I spin around. He is standing right in front of me and because of his height, I have to look up to see his face. He no longer has facial hair, his prep team must have shaved it off, but he still is very attractive.

"What do you want," I ask as coldly as I can muster. I can't let him get to me.

"Can I come in and talk," he asks and then adds when I don't respond and just stare, "Before Brutus or Enobaria catches me and sends me off."

"I guess," I say sedately and walk in the room. Cato follows and closes the door behind him. My eyes quickly flash to the nightstand to see if my knives are still there and then to the wall. My knives are gone. "Fucking bastards," I yell. Anger floods my being. The new lamp in the room shatters on the floor just like the one before it did. "They took my knives! My knives! Not their fucking knives! Mine!" Fury has overtaken me.

Cato grabs a hold of me and pins me to a wall. The look of insanity that sometimes possesses him is there in his eyes. I try to break free of his grasp, his insane eyes boring into me, but I can't break free. "Let go of me!" I yell at Cato. It takes him a second before it registers, he drops my hands. The next thing I know he's throwing the glass shards from the lamp around, kicking my bed, and pounding his fists on the ground.

I don't know why insanity possesses him sometimes, probably something to do with our training back in Two. I've seen it take over several times before. He's had many people hospitalized. This wasn't the first time I have been subjected to the insanity, but I've learned that fighting him doesn't solve anything. It has taken me a few times to realize this, I'm just lucky I haven't ended up hospitalized. Cato has attacked me during his insanity rages, but he seems to somehow hold back against me during them, and so he hasn't actually ever hurt me during one. Only when we spar or fuck has he hurt me, but it goes both ways. And only other people get hurt during his insane moments.

Even though I am still furious about my knives being purloined, I have to calm him down. "Cato, calm down. It's okay. Nothing's wrong." He turns to look at me, the insanity still lurking in his eyes.

"Don't you get it? Nothing is okay! Nothing will ever be okay! Ever Again!" He's screaming at me, anger and insanity as one.

I continue trying to calm him, "Okay Cato, just calm down, please, just calm down." This doesn't calm him down, I try several different approaches, and the one the ends up working is, "Please calm down before Enobaria and Brutus come," he stops and stares at me. The insane still lingering, so I add, "You said you wanted to talk."

Cato seems to come back. He takes a moment, reflecting on what just happened. "Sorry I just..." his voice breaks off.

"I know," I tell him. I sit down on the bed. "What did you want to talk about before...you know."

"About Twelve, about those fucking tributes," he says beginning to flare up.

"Stay calm," I warn him, and then add "I can't wait to kill them."

"I can't wait till they're dead, but that's what I wanted to talk about." He sits down next to me on the bed, and tilts his head so he's looking directly at me. "What if they aren't even worthy contenders. Really it's their stylists that put them in the spotlight, they could be worthless. They are from Twelve."

Cato's words soothe me. I mean. They Are From Twelve. It's funny, though, how quickly our moods changed. From calm to fury back to calm. I'm lucky, though, that his moment of insanity wasn't as bad as in past times. I avoid his eyes, so I don't get lost in them or see the insanity if it is still there. "Yeah, you're right. They don't mean anything yet. Just their stylists outshining ours."

"Exactly," says Cato. He tries to look in my eyes, but I reject his attempts at eye contact. "That wasn't the only thing I wanted to talk about," he says after a moment.

"What else then?" I ask.

"Is that deal still good?"

"Sealed with a kiss," I say getting up before he gets the wrong idea. "So, if that's all you wanted to talk about, I'm going to take a shower."

Cato smirks at me, getting up off the bed, and heads towards the door. When he speaks I expect it to be something dirty, but instead it's just a "See ya tomorrow." He glances back at me before walking out.

After my shower, I put on a pair of black shorts and a green tanktop. The lamp has once again been cleaned up, but this time it wasn't replaced. My lamp privileges have been revoked. I get in the bed and lay there thinking about what I'm going to do. At least I know Cato is keeping his part of the deal. But I need to think of a way. A way to kill him easier. I think about what I would do if I had to kill him right now. I realize how hard it would be. How hard it would be for me to kill him. How likely it is that I would die. Do I have a weakness for Cato? Fuck. I think I do. I have a weakness. Fuck. I have a weakness and his name is Cato. This is bad. Real bad. Why did I let this happen. I'm supposed to be Strong. I'm not supposed to let these things happen. I'm going to have to overcome this. Just like I would any other weakness. But how? How will I? Of course. Most of the battle of overcoming something is mental. Pushing yourself even when you can't take it anymore or think you're at your limit. That's exactly it. Mentality. Mentality is key. To Everything. If I imagine myself killing Cato sadistically, then it will be easier to kill him when the time comes. Right?

I decide to try it while I fall asleep. It is quite difficult to begin with, it hurts, but I push through it. I imagine Cato is chained to a wall. I have my knives. A wide variety. I'm using one of my throwing knives to cut open his right cheek. Blood is gushing out. Cato is trying to be strong, even though I am torturing him. I cut a gash from his chin to his ear. Blood, oh how I love blood. It makes me hungry just thinking about it. Hungry to kill. Then I look at Cato. Cato. How can I do this to him? Sparring is one thing, but torture? No. I put my hand on his left cheek, and bring my lips to his. I break away and look in his eyes. The insane. It's there. Then suddenly his body goes up in flames and I'm back in the City Circle. The District Twelve tributes are parading around in their flaming coal costumes. I'm in a cage. In a cage with Cato. He's lost his sanity. His eyes. He's thrashing about, but the cage is so small that I am caught in the rage. In his insanity. I get crushed against the bars. Whacked in the face. Thrown on the ground. Stomped on several times. Kicked in the ribs. In the face. I'm a bloody mess. His insanity never leaving. That's when I open my eyes.


	5. Chapter 5: Training

It was just a dream. A nightmare. Cato would never do that to me. If he was going to kill me, he would make it quick. Painless. But still. How could I have been so weak. Even if it was just a dream. A nightmare. I can't afford to be weak. Ever. I have to be Strong. It's the only way. I go to the window in the room and draw back the curtains. It's still night. I go back in the bed and lay on my side. I run my fingers along the right side of my back looking for my scar, but I can't find it. Bastards must have got rid of it. Fucking bastards. It was about the length of maybe two of my fingers, starting close to my spine, but straying away. Cato's. From one of times we fucked. He has, or had, a matching one on his back, beneath his shoulder. The other afflictions we had given each other healed without a trace. I give up on trying to find the scar and lay in the bed until I fall back to sleep.

This time I wake without a nightmare to assist me. The curtains are still drawn from last night and I can tell it's early morning. I go the dining room, still in the green tanktop and black shorts. Unlike yesterday, the dining room already has some life when I enter. Brutus and Enobaria are eating and talking strategy. From what I can tell, they are deciding what the best effective way to use the future sponserships would be. I grab a plate and fill it with ham, eggs, and waffles. I sit down and begin eating. Mace Medallion saunters in with Cato close behind. We eat in silence, except for Mace's occassional outburst reminding us of our training at ten. Once I finish eating, Brutus tells Cato something, and I'm sure he wants me to hear it also, so I stop. "Remember to get your alliance together today." After I'm sure Brutus doesn't have anything more to say, I head back to the room I was assigned.

I put my hair back in a ponytail and brush my teeth. A thought occurs to me. What if my knives were placed in the nightstand's drawer. I stride over and check. Nothing. I laugh silently at myself. I'm not even allowed a lamp, why would they let me keep a knife? Disappointing, but true. I decide to just wear the shorts and tanktop I'm already wearing to training. I'm eager to train, though I would prefer if there was something to kill. I need blood. Badly. But I'll have to wait until the Games begin. Praticing with knives and killer weapons is fantastic, though. So it'll do. For Now.

Cato meets up with me at the elevator. He is wearing a red tanktop that works well with his muscles and black shorts. The elevator stops, opens, and we step in. There are already other tributes on the elevator. Rush and Morgan from District 4 and four others. I don't know what districts they are from. We ride the elevator down to the training rooms in silence. The elevator stops and opens, and we step out. We are the first ones to arrive. A 2 is pinned to my back. The district numbers for the others are pinned on their backs also. Now I know that the other four are from Districts 9 and 5. Cato and I walk to the tributes from Four.

"Sup," says Cato. Rush quickly replies "Sup" in return.

"I'm Cato and this," starts Cato, but I interrupt him quickly, I can speak for myself.

"I'm Clove."

Cato continues as if nothing happened, "You two interested in an alliance?"

"I'm in," both Rush and Morgan reply immediately.

"Good," states Cato. "I'm going to ask District 1 also. And maybe that guy from Eleven."

"Sounds good to me," comments Morgan. "Oh, they're here."

I turn my head towards the elevator and there they are. District 1. The sparkling fairy prince and princess of last night. They don't look so horribly pathetic today. No, now they look like they would be ready to go into the arena, not like they're ready to go to a ball. I still could take them. Easily. I walk with Cato over to them and invite them into our alliance with Four. They accept. Since other tributes are forming a circle around the head trainer we join in.

District 12 arrives in the nick of time. Wearing the same outfits. Sorry, but no, this is not a team game, this is a game where only one can win. Not both. The head trainer introduces herself as Atala. Atala goes on to explain how the training sessions work and what stations there are. As soon as we are free to train I peel off and head straight to the knife throwing station. The trainer is about to explain how to throw knives, but I just ignore him, pick up five and toss them right into the 'hearts' of the dummies. "Excellent," I hear him say. I pick up more and toss them as well, head shots this time. I get lost in the Art. It's not until all the knives are lodged into the dummies that I stop. "You have quite the aim," praises the trainer. I walk away from the station and find myself at the sword station. Cato is throwing spears with Marvel. Rush and Morgan are with the nets, and I don't know where the hell Glimmer is. I notice Twelve's tributes are at the camouflage station. Pathetic. After praticing my swordsmanship for a half hour, we are sent out for lunch.

At lunch our alliance sits together. We decide that we want the guy from District 11 in our alliance. Thresh I hear someone call him. Oh, how I can't wait to watch his blood ooze out. I want to be the one to kill him when the time comes. A lot of our other conversations are just us being narcissists talking up our strengths. After lunch we continue training. The knives have been restocked so I dance with them. I'm caught in the Art. After that I pratice sparring and run through the obstacle course. Before I can go to another station, we are sent out and back to our floors. Back on floor 2, I go and eat dinner. Enobaria, Brutus, and Mace are waiting for us. Enobaria and Brutus ask us how it went, Brutus curious to know if the alliance is together. Which it is, though Thresh declined. Silly boy. As we eat they tell us that we should stop by the plant station at some point, just in case we need the knowledge later. Also that we should learn snares. Just in case. But other than that to continue intimidating our competition. Striking fear into others. Something I enjoy doing.

Back in my room I take a shower and put on another tanktop, this time a navy blue, and another pair of black shorts. It's still early, but I don't want to leave my room and run the risk of running into Cato. So, I stay put and try imagining myself sadistically murdering him again. It's not a Fav Five of mine, but it's needed. Required. I have to kill him. I cannot die. I have to Win. During the task of sadistically murdering Cato in my imagination, my mind flicks to last night when the insanity overtook him briefly. What if that happens in the arena? Will I be the only one to try and calm him? Am I the only one who can? I can't think of anyone who has tried. They've provoked him. Made it worse. I guess I'll have to protect him. He needs me. If he attacks another one of the others, I'll have to take his side. Kill them before they can kill him. And me. I made a deal. I will adhere to that deal.

**CATO'S POV**

I want to go and see Clove again, but I can't. I can't make it harder for her, that is, if it will even be hard for her. Her heart is like a stone, ice is in her veins, she's cold and hard. At least that's how she was when I first met her. It seemed as if she was incapable of love, but I made her love, or the closest thing she can come to love. That's how I broke her, and I don't want to fix her, because she's better broken. But maybe I do need to fix her...

**CLOVE'S POV**

The next morning it's the same thing. Breakfast. Training. Lunch. Training. Dinner. Whatever. During training I make a brief stop at the plants station. Just in case. I spend the rest of the time with knives, spears, swords, and do some sparring. The only thing missing is blood. I need blood. Badly. I want to kill. But I can't. Not yet at least. During lunch we discuss a few strategic plans with our alliance, but not too much. We ARE planning on killing each other. After training is over for the day, Enobaria and Brutus ask how it went again. Brutus and Enobaria ask us questions about the other tributes, then give us tips and advice. Mace Medallion manages to stay silent for the meal while our mentors talk. I try to listen as best I can. I mean, they are talking about the Games. They are victors. And I want to Win. I will Win. But Cato's presence next to me is somewhat distracting. After dinner Cato and I speak with our mentors one-on-one. Enobaria gives me tips on how to impress the Gamemakers and get a high score. While she talks I can't help, but admire her sharp fangs with gold on the points. It looks very badass. Then again. Enobaria is Badass. Maybe I'll rip someone's throat out with my teeth in her honor. It would be nice after all. To taste that metallic blood. Maybe I'll do it in front of my alliance. Make them fear me. Once Enobaria is done talking to me, I am free to go. I am about to go to the room when I decide to check out the rooftop.

It's nice, but a bit boring. But I need the fresh air. I watch the people in their strange styles below for a moment, and then pace around the rooftop. Enobaria knows, knew, about Cato and me. Did someone else? I was going to be in the Games, no matter what. Was I put in because Cato volunteered? It was common knowledge that he would. Were they punishing me because of my father? I had one more year. I was going to volunteer. Everyone knew that. I don't blame my father. I can't. He wanted to protect me. Keep me safe. But he can't. It's up to me. It's all up to me. I will be Strong. I am Strong.

I go in the elevator and ride it back down to floor 2. When the doors open there is Cato. I walk out and he says, "Clove," so I turn around, but he quickly says, "Nevermind," and steps into the elevator.

I take a shower, put on a red tanktop, black shorts, and try to keep up my strategy. I imagine I'm sadistically murdering Cato, again. I hate it. But I got to win. And it can only make me Stronger. Cato's face is red from all the blood that flows out of the cuts I made. There's one across his forehead and two more across his cheeks. Fear is in his expression. Fear. Fear of me. His arms have gashes all over, profusely bleeding. His white shirt is drenched with his blood and sweat. His calves are cut open. Blood. It's everywhere. It's wonderful. Blood. Fear. But Cato? No. Yes. It has to be. Push through it. I use the knife I clench in my hand and drag it across his chest, cutting open his flesh, blood pouring out. He screams. Yes.


	6. Chapter 6: Training Scores

At training I practice making a snare for a short time, just in case. I run through the obstacle course I go and throw more knives. I spend some time sparring and then it's lunch. Today we will have our private sessions with the Gamemakers. It's time to impress them. The districts go in order from One to Twelve. Boys first. "Good luck," I tell Cato when he gets called. "Same to you," he replies solemnly. I wait patiently for my turn. I don't know how long it takes, but eventually my name is called.

I grab all the throwing knives in the training gym and go to work. From the gym's center I throw knives in the hearts of the dummies at the bow station. I sprint and throw, hitting all the dummies at the spear station in the head. I work through the obstacle course efficiently, piercing all the dummies at the station meant for knife throwing in the neck. I run to the center of the gym and while moving in a quick circle I throw more knives, hitting the bow dummies in the lungs, the spear dummies in appendix, and the knife dummies in the head. I make the circle again. Bow dummies, head. Spear dummies, heart. Knife dummies, lungs. I stop. I have no more knives. I'm released. The Gamemakers look very impressed by my skill. Good.

Back on floor 2, Enobaria asks me how the session went and I tell her. She gives me an approving nod and tells me I should get a high score. It will be awhile before the scores are announced, since they still have most of the districts left to go through still. So, during the time I have to kill, I go to the room of my assignment, take a shower and continue working on my "strategy." When it's time for the announcement of the scores, Mace Medallion comes and fetches me. We all sit gathered around the television that blazons the scores of the tributes. Marvel gets a nine and Glimmer gets an eight. Cato's score pops up. Ten. I sneak a glance at Cato and see him suppressing a smile under his strong exterior. My score comes up. Ten. We're both tens. It's a nice and high score, but I was hoping for something higher. Enobaria and Brutus congratulate us for our score. Mace is absolutely excited by it. Rush and Morgan have eights. As we watch the other scores pop up, I get happier and happier with my score. No one else has a ten or better, yet. The other tributes are not so skillful. But then something bizarre happens. The District Twelve female tribute gets an eleven.

The lamp next to me is on the ground lying in millions of pieces. Lamp privileges rightfully revoked. The chair that sits near Cato is broken into several pieces. Enobaria and Brutus are trying to calm us down. "I'm going to Kill that Bitch!" I don't know what's all going on. Fury has overtaken Cato and I. I don't know what I'm doing. Objects are being thrown. Smashed. Broken. There's a hole in the wall. No, make that three holes. Profanities being tossed around. The television is broken, shattered. Finally, Enobaria and Brutus work together to try and forcibly suppress me. Either I'm less of a threat, or I'm more deadly. I think it's the latter. I fight against them as hard as I can. I hear something break. It's not me. There's blood. Not mine. Then I feel a needle jab into my neck and I lose consciousness. Filthy bastards.

I wake up in my room. Enobaria is sitting on a chair. She has a couple of bruises on her arms and face, and a small cut on her cheek. "How are you feeling?" she asks, eyeing me with a look that suggests she's expecting me to go ape-shit on her.

"I'm fine," I say, "a little out-of-it."

"You haven't been out too long. Just an hour. Had to calm you down somehow."

"If it wasn't for that fucking bitch and her fucking score," I flare up. How did that bitch get an eleven?

"Clove, I'm going to tell you this once. Don't lose your head over her. Don't lose your head over anyone. That's how you die. Got it?" says Enobaria sternly. She waits for a nod from me before continuing, "we will be eating in a half hour and I expect you to give Mace and Brutus an apology."

"For what? Breaking shit?" I ask.

"You broke Mace's nose and snapped one of Brutus' fingers," replies Enobaria. Oh great, Brutus already doesn't like me.

"Oh, so that's what happened."

"Mace is probably going to bring up his nose quite often, so just try to be nice about it. Okay?" Enobaria gets up and walks to the door, turns and says, "Tomorrow I will be preparing you for the interview, I don't expect it to take long." She then walks out of the room, leaving me to myself.

I lay in the bed for a few more minutes since everything still seems a little fuzzy to me. Do I have my own insanity rages? I don't think so. I think I just get angry. Cato's different. There's a difference between his bouts of anger and his insanity. I think my rages are just anger. No insanity. When I get out of the bed, I stagger into the bathroom. I have some blood on the tanktop, so I take it off. There is also some blood on me, so I wash it off. I find a new tanktop to wear, azure blue. I also put on a new pair of black shorts. Then, I stagger out to the dining area. Cato isn't there, yet, but Brutus, Enobaria, and Mace are. Mace has a bandage covering his nose, his face is swollen. Brutus has a splint on his left index finger, which he doesn't seem to want, and a black eye.

"Sorry about your nose," I say to Mace. I look at Brutus and say, "Sorry about your finger."

"Apology accepted," says Mace Medallion almost immediately, but adds,"Though the pain in my face tells me otherwise."

"I don't want your sympathy Coleman, if you're not going to be sincere about it," states Brutus harshly.

I don't comment further, although I can tell Enobaria gives me a look that suggests she wants me to try again. Cato staggers in after a minute or two. He mumbles, "sorry," but no one comments on his weak apology. We then begin eating. No one speaks except for Mace, who drags on and on about his nose, until Brutus finally tells him to shut up.

After dinner I go up to the rooftop to get some air. I'm watching the people below. They all seem so strange, everyone seems kind of strange. Brutus doesn't like me because I'm competition, he wants Cato to win, yet I'm still from his district, too. Mace is weak and complains of a broken nose. Twelve Bitch spends training learning plants, doing snares, and camouflaging and gets an eleven. Thresh doesn't want to join the alliance. Cato and his insane. My father regretting something he shouldn't. Enobaria and her sharp, gold tipped fangs. The Capitol people. My mind flashes to my token. The necklace my father gave me. I should give it to Enobaria, so it can get checked out by the Gamemakers. I turn to leave when someone says, "Hey Clove."

I locate the voice and see that it's Marvel from District 1. "Hey," I say nonchalantly.

"Nice job on the ten," he says, though I can tell he's jealous and furious about it.

"Could've done better," I say, adding, "That Twelve Bitch got an eleven."

"I know, how in the hell did she get that?" he questions, then adds, "all she did the whole time was prance around with that boy."

"I don't know, but I'm going to kill her," I state walking away and into the elevator.

Marvel simply says, "Not if I kill her first." The elevator doors close and I am sent back down to Floor 2. Oh no, Marvel, I will kill her. That's a promise.

I head back to my room, but Cato stops me before I can close the door. Does he remember that we are going to kill each other? He paces back and forth in front of the bed and asks, "How the fuck did she get an eleven?"

I reply "I don't know," but then a thought occurs to me, "Maybe she's a whore."

"That makes perfect sense" Cato agrees, he stops pacing and looks at me, "The Gamemakers are drunk as hell by then, so she must've sucked somebody's dick." A smile curls up on Cato's face, "Is that how you got your ten?"

I hit him hard on the shoulder, "Of course not, unlike her I actually have skill with a weapon."

Cato knows better than to ridicule my ability, so instead he opts for, "Apparently they liked her skill better."

"Oh, and what's your excuse for a ten?" I retort.

"I'm a guy. We have higher standards."

"Than what? Dirt?" I counter.

"You're just jealous," he says getting up, "because I'm going to win and you know it." He walks towards the door.

"Try telling me that when you're six feet under."

"I won't have to," he says opening the door, "because that's where you will be." And it sounds like a promise. I wouldn't expect anything else, either. If one of us is going to win. The other must die. I head straight to bed when Cato leaves.

In the morning I find myself alone with Mace Medallion at the table eating breakfast. Mace's face is still a little swollen, and he spends the whole time talking about it. I fight back the urge to tell him to "shut the fuck up," and instead insert polite words when necessary. Only because Enobaria told me to. And she's my mentor. It's not until Cato and Enobaria show up that he stops talking. After breakfast I give Enobaria my token for the arena and she has me practice my interview. She asks me questions and adds insight into how I sound, and if I should add anything. I spend about three hours practicing before Enobaria lets me go, but she also adds at the very end of the session, "Don't let it be known that you have had a relationship of any kind with Cato."

After lunch, Mace has me put on a full-length dress and high heels. He brings up his nose several times. Weak bastard. He almost has a worse problem than his nose. I am about to use one of the heels as a weapon when he turns his back, but Enobaria checks in on me and sternly says, "Clove." She must've known I would get try to kill him or something. Once Mace is satisfied that I will be okay in that get-up, he advises me about eye contact, sitting posture, and using hand gestures. He tries to get me to smile while I speak, but it's a lost cause. I don't want to look like some weak-ass friendly chick during my interview. I want to seem fierce. Strong. Intimidating. That's the only way I'm going to get sponsors. I eat dinner and go back in my room and work on my strategy some more. I just hope that it works. I have to win. It's a must. It's what I was meant to do. It's what my whole life is about. I must win.

I hear a knock on the door and I open it to find Cato. "This better be quick," I say.

"I was up on the rooftop. Glimmer was up there. Said that District Twelve guy asked to join the alliance." Cato quickly summarizes.

"And...?" I say.

"She said she told him he could join."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I stare in disbelief.

"I'm not fucking kidding you," states Cato with a unfaltering hard face.

I slam the door on Cato. Who in the hell does Glimmer think she is? Letting some little punk into our alliance without asking anyone else. He better be useful, or I'm going to cut him up. Slice and dice. Breathe, just breathe. Don't lose your head over this. Control. Self-control. "One of the most powerful things you can have," that's what my father once told me. "Only those with good self-control are considered Strong," that's what he said. My father has great self-control and has never lost his cool. Ever. It reminds me how I had no self-control yesterday, how close I was to killing Mace today, and how I barely have any right now. Or ever. Dammit. I try to hold back on what I was going to do, which would have resulted in the destruction of my room and instead take a shower.

The shower doesn't actually calm me down, though, so I go to the rooftop. It's deserted. Perfect. I stare for a brief moment at the people below, but my anger is still trying hard to break through, so I do the only thing I can think of. I jog around the rooftop for about thirty minutes. Afterwards, I am all sweaty, but my anger seems to have diminished. I go back down into the room I have and take another shower before jumping into bed.

In bed I think about killing Cato again. It's the only thing I can really do right now to prepare me for the Games. I don't know anything about the arena. I don't know what weapons there will be. I don't know anything about the Game. Until it starts. I do know, however, that there is a good chance I will be the one to kill Cato. And so I must prepare.

I have Cato chained to a wall. I have my knives. All of them. All 1,093. I select a real long one with a very sharp point on the end. I drag it across his perfectly chiseled abs. Across his rock solid, muscular arms. Down his huge, strong calves. I draw patterns in his flesh. Stars. Knives. Spears. Flames. All over his body. Everywhere, except his face. Screams of agony. Blood galore. A beautiful creation. I cut a gash across his face. Across his nose. Across his forehead. Cut off his ears. Blood gushing everywhere. Off with his fingers. Ring. Pinky. Index. Thumb. Middle. No more fingers. No more toes. No more nose. No more life.

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><p><strong>AN: **I may or may not update next week, or for the next few weeks or so, but I will try.


	7. Chapter 7: Interviews

**A/N:** I won't be updating next week, but I will try to the week after. Hope you enjoy this chapter, though.

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><p>I wake up and eat breakfast as usual. I am then swarmed by my prep team as they prepare me for my stylist and my interview. Yeven has me put on a short black dress with red flowing throughout it, almost like blood. No. Exactly like blood. I also put on black four inch heels, a leather band with splatters of bloodred on my left wrist, along with a fingerless leather glove that also has bloodred splatters, and a small necklace. The necklace is silver with a small knife. I like my outfit. It's not girly. It's deadly. There's blood. A knife. Me.<p>

"I wanted to put spikes on the wristband, but it's against the rules," chimes in Yeven, "Since you could use them to kill yourself, or another tribute."

"It's not like they don't supply us with enough weapons to kill someone, anyway," I scoff thinking of the lamps that I destroyed and all the pieces they shattered into. I could have used any one of those shards to kill someone. I could have killed that Twelve Bitch at training and been done with her. It would have been easy. Too easy. Oops, I didn't mean to kill her. I just kind of missed my target. I should have been more careful.

"True," says Yeven. He continues talking as we walk to the elevator to meet up with the rest of the people. He tells me that my Reaping clothes were the inspiration behind my current attire. The black shirt with the splatters of red. The leather gloves. Yeven and I are the last to arrive at the elevator. Cato is wearing a black tuxedo with a red tie. Simple.

Once we are lined up behind District One, the girl, Glimmer, turns around and comes up to face Cato. She brushes her hand across Cato's arm and gives him a seductive smile before saying, "I filled in Four on our newest member, did you let her know?" I feel anger wash over me, but I try to not let it show. She's wearing a gold, see-through dress, and Cato's eyes linger over her breasts before he brings them up to her eyes.

"Yes he did," I say, the anger showing in my voice, "and it's a stupid, shitty idea."

She simply lets out a small laugh and turns around to look at me, "Don't worry, it's not an idea."

I feel like giving her two black eyes, but I try my hardest to hold myself back. I'm saved from letting my fists fly when it's let known that we are about to walk out onto the stage for the interviews. Glimmer gives Cato a wink before walking back to her spot. I will kill her. I will laugh as the blood drains from her face. I will make her unrecognizable.

Marvel begins to move forward, so I follow him as we walk onto the stage and take our seats. Glimmer is the first one up for the interview and goes for a seductive appeal like the slut she is. Once it is my turn, I take a seat next to Caesar Flickerman, the interviewer. I have a stone cold expression on my face and wait for him to begin.

"So, Clove tell me, how does it feel to be a tribute? It's a big honor back in District Two, isn't it?" asks Caesar.

"The biggest honor, actually. I've waited my whole life for this," I give as a response.

"Your whole life? You must have good patience. I can hardly wait ten minutes for a meal," jokes Caesar and the crowd laughs along with him. He continues the interview by saying, "Typically, District Two has volunteer tributes, and with your ten in training it's no wonder why no one did volunteer. You must be very skilled."

"Yeah, I am, and for someone to volunteer for me would have been a mistake," I say confidently.

"What do you mean by a mistake?" asks Caesar.

"They would have died," I state matter of factly.

Caesar seems to have known this was coming, because he doesn't act surprised or shocked, instead he simply asks, "Are you saying you're going to win?"

"Yes."

Caesar lets out a laugh and says, "You're a cocky one. I like that."

"I'm not cocky," I say, "I'm confident."

"Even better." Caesar says this while giving me a smile that I'm positive is fake. "Who do you think will be your biggest competition in the Games?"

"I can take them all. Easily."

"You're that confident, aren't you," says Caesar. He rephrases his question and asks it again, "But if you had to pick one other tribute to win the Games, who do you think would win?"

"Cato," I say without a doubt.

"Your district partner? Can you tell us why?" Caesar manages to get the crowd excited over my answer.

"He's strong. Skilled. And if it wasn't for me, then I suspect he would win."

"Is there more to the story? Something the audience and I don't know about?" asks Caesar suggestively.

I wonder if he knows there is more, but I answer, "No." I glance at Cato and see he is expressionless, giving away no signs of what we had.

"Is there anyone special back in District 2? I'm sure a fiesty girl like you has a special someone," says Caesar raising an eyebrow.

"Please, they only wish they could have me," I quip.

"I'm sure they do," says Caesar before redirecting the interview, "What has been your favorite experience here at the Capitol?"

"Training. The training sessions have definitely been the best part about the Capitol. I enjoyed praticing with all the weapons, especially the knives. I can't wait to test out the knives in the arena."

Caesar gives me an easy smile and says, "You like the knives? You hear that tributes," Caesar looks at the other tributes, "She likes the knives, I'd watch your backs if I were you." Caesar returns his gaze back to me and continues, "You must have quite the aim."

"I never miss," I say confidently.

"Never? I didn't know my eating habits and your knife throwing were so similar." This response causes the audience to burst out in laughter.

"If your eating habits could kill, then maybe they would be similar to my knife throwing," I reply coldly. This takes most of the laughter out of the crowd.

"No one has died yet when I eat pork chops for lunch, so I guess you're right." Caesar keeps a steady smile on his face and the crowd laughs again as the buzzer goes off. "It seems we are out of time. Good luck Clove Coleman of District 2."

I walk back to my seat and Cato moves to the chair next to Caesar.

**CATO'S POV**

"Cato, you volunteered as a tribute. Did you know the boy or did you just want to participate in the Games?" Caesar asks me.

"That kid means nothing to me. Winning the Games is the only thing that matters," I answer.

"I'm sure it is, and you must have incredible skill with the ten you received in training. For what reason did you want to volunteer?"

"To win. The glory and honor," I answer.

"Your grandpa was a victor, wasn't he? Did that have anything to do with why you volunteered?" presses Caesar.

"Yes, but it isn't the only reason."

"And the other reasons are winning, glory, and honor?"

"Yes."

"Those are all good reasons to volunteer," says Caesar. He then asks me, "What do you think will be your best asset in the Games?"

"My ability to kill without any thought about it," I respond coolly.

"That would definitely give you an edge. One of the better qualities to have in the Games," replies Caesar, "Any other attributes you would like to tell me about?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"Cato, you're killing me here."

"If I was killing you, then you would either be dead or wishing you were right now."

I can tell Caesar is an expert at emotions, because instead of looking fearful or shocked he simply gives me a smile and says, "I'm neither dead nor wishing I were. You got me there." Caesar takes a second before saying, "I would love to know what other qualities we are going to see in the Games from you. Are you sure you can't tell me one little thing?"

I say, irritated by Caesar's persistence, "If you so desperately need to know, my good looks tend to kill people."

Caesar lets out a big laugh and the crowd laughs along with him. "Is that why I feel faint?" asks Caesar. "Because I know it isn't from hunger, and your good looks are very overwhelming."

The crowd laughs some more while I respond with disinterest, "Yeah, I would be careful, you could drop dead any second."

Caesar gives another laugh before saying, "Is there a doctor near by? Because I may be in need of one." When the crowd quiets down he asks me, "Watching the Hunger Games in previous years, what has been your favorite part?"

"Watching the tributes murder each other. That has been my favorite part of the Games, and I can't wait to kill some myself."

"My favorite part has always been the different stategys," says Caesar.

"The desperate pleas and screams that won't save them," I add.

"The alliances that are created."

"Only to be destroyed," I comment.

Caesar, likely sensing the dead end of this little back-and-forth conversation, moves the interview along by asking, "What do you think about Clove naming you as her biggest competition?"

I'm not surprised Clove said that, and I hope it wasn't just because of my tremendous skill, but I respond, "It doesn't matter what she calls me, she won't make it out of the arena alive,"as an afterthought I add, "If we were the last two, she might as well drop dead, because there is no way she is going to kill me." I don't look at Clove, but am sure she is giving me one of her death glares.

"I'd watch out if I were you Cato," says Caesar gesturing towards Clove, who has a vicious death glare on her face, "If looks could kill, then I would have to say you're a dead man."

"Unfortunately for her, looks don't kill, but I do," I say looking at her.

"Then, she's really the one that should watch out," says Caesar adding a laugh at the end.

"Everyone should watch out."

"I know I would," says Caesar. The buzzer goes off and Caesar says, "Good luck in the Games District 2's Cato Colt."

As I walk back to my seat I make sure to flash my eyes over to Glimmer. She's wearing a conviently see-through dress, and I'm sure my action will infuriate Clove.

**CLOVE'S POV**

I'm going to kill that bitch. I try to push down the anger that is exploding inside of me. That slut. Who does she think she is? I can't wait to cut her face up. I try to focus on the other tributes' interviews, but I can't help but imagine all the ways I could torture and kill Glimmer. I am dragged out of my reverie by the most revolting thing: Twelve Bitch spinning in circles. I feel the food I ate this morning trying to make a reappearance. What does she think this is? A dance recitial? This is the Hunger Games. Being a girly-girl isn't going to help.

When Caesar asks her about how she got an eleven in training, I listen attentively. What did she do that was so fucking great?

The Bitch On Fire responds by saying, "Um...all I can say is I think it was a first." Hmph, so she is a whore. Not surprising.

"You're killing us. Details. Details," presses Caesar.

"I'm not supposed to talk about it right?" asks Fire Bitch to the Gamemakers.

She is quickly responded with a "She's not!" Which ensures that she is indeed a whore.

Twelve Whore's interview then goes on into how she volunteered for her sister, which is completely boring. So what if she volunteered for her sister? Cato volunteered for someone he didn't even know. Next year I would have volunteered for someone. Even if I didn't know her. What's the big deal?

Once the whore's interview is over, it is time for the guy Glimmer-Slut let into the alliance. I already can't stand him. He compares me to bread. Bread. Who can be so fucking obsessed with bread that they have to go and compare everyone to their district's bread. Who? Just no. I am not bread. No one is bread. Except maybe you. Stupid baker. Next thing I know, Caesar and Son-of-a-baker are sniffing each other. It is so pathetic, but the audience eats it up like it is the air they need to live.

Caesar then decides to ask Bread Boy about his love life. "Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"

"Well there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping," says Bread Boy.

Caesar asks him if this girl has a boyfriend to which he responds by saying that there are many boys who are like her.

"So here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" advises Caesar to Bread Boy.

"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning...won't help in my case," responds Bread Boy. That's when it hits me that he is talking about his district partner. But Caesar doesn't see that.

"Why ever not?"

"Because...because... she came here with me," sputters out Bread Boy in the most pathetic manner possible. Anger builds up inside of me at this, even though I shouldn't give a shit about this. Why the hell did he say that? Only one person can live. Why make it worse for you or her or whatever. You stupid baker. Plus, you two aren't even boyfriend-girlfriend. If anyone here is, then it's Cato and me.

"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," comments Caesar.

"It's not good," states Bread Boy. Fuck. You. You want to know what's not good? Me having to kill Cato. That's what's not good.

"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady. She didn't know?"

"Not until now," says Bread Boy

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response? Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours," concludes Caesar, resulting in the audience's defeaning roar. Not only did he steal my and Cato's circumstance, he also stole the spotlight we did have. When he dies, I will make sure it is slow and painful. I will.

Once the anthem is played, and the program is over, the other tributes and I head go to the elevators. I enter the nearest one, and my alliance members, including Bread Boy follow suit.

"In case you were wondering, your girlfriend isn't part of this alliance Lover Boy," says Marvel as the elevator doors close.

"I know," responds Lover Bread quietly.

"What's she going to think when you're hunting her down with us?" asks Morgan.

"I don't- I don't know. Does it really matter? There's only one victor." says Twelve Bread. The elevator stops at Floor One and Marvel and Glimmer-Slut, who was surprisingly non-flirtatious in the elevator, step out.

"You better not mess anything up in the arena, or I will kill you on the spot," threatens Cato.

"I won't," says Bread Guy.

The elevator soon drops Cato and me off on Floor Two where Mace Medallion, Yeven, Cato's stylist, Brutus, and Enobaria are waiting for us.

"Oh, I wish we had you two do the whole star-crossed lovers thing. Everyone absolutely adores it. That's all anyone will be talking about. The Star-Crossed Lovers of District Twelve," says Mace. But they aren't star-crossed. Cato and I are.

"Everybody will be talking about it, alright, until they die," inputs Brutus. "Come on now let's eat."

The chatter around the table is mainly Brutus and Enobaria talking about the arena, while Yeven, Mace, and Cato's stylist talk obnoxiously about the interviews. As I eat it sinks in more and more about how Panem will only recognize the Star-Crossed Lovers from District Twelve, who aren't really even star-crossed lovers. They will never know that the real star-crossed people of the arena are Cato and me.

After dinner we watch the interviews again. Enobaria sits next to me and after my interview plays through says quietly to me, "Nice job."

Brutus and Enobaria impersonate Lover Boy and Fire Girl during their interviews, which causes everyone, except for Mace, to laugh like buffoons. Brutus actually sniffs Cato, who in turn sniffs him back.

"Because...because...we're both going to die," mocks Brutus in a fake sissy boy voice.

"I think it is sweet," interjects Mace Medallion. "He loves her, but they will never be able to be together. Doesn't that just break your heart?"

Enobaria shuts off the television, "I could tell you something that would really break your heart, but I won't." I wonder if she is talking about my and Cato's predicament or something entirely unrelated.

"Oh! What is it?" asks Mace excitedly.

"Said I won't tell you. I'm going now. The big event starts tomorrow," says Enobaria walking out of the room. Brutus follows her along with the stylists.

"You two really should have done the whole star-crossed lovers thing," says Mace before leaving. I exit the room after them. At least with Lover Boy's declaration of love, no one will expect the relationship Cato and I have. I stride into my assigned room, pushing the door shut behind me, but I don't hear it close. I turn around. Cato is standing there in the doorway. He walks in and closes the door.

"Ready for the Games?" I ask, trying to spark conversation.

"Truthfully," he says, "Not at all."

"So far, this whole 'Hunger Games' thing has been very disappointing. Nothing like I imagined." I tell him. What am I doing? He's my enemy, even if I can't see him as one.

"I always dreamed of being in the Hunger Games, but now it's more of a nightmare." He moves over to my bed and sits down, I join him.

"I wish someone would have volunteered for me." I'm sounding weak. I hate it. I try to stop talking to him, but I can't. "I was going to volunteer next year."

Cato turns his head to look at me, as he speaks, I turn my gaze onto him. "I wish I didn't volunteer, but at the same time, I'm glad I did."

"I don't want to kill you," I say. Shit. Why the fuck did I just say that?

"But you're going to have to if you want to win," points out Cato.

"I know."

"I don't want to kill you either," Cato assures me.

"If only both of us could win."

"But we can't both win."

"I wish we could, though."

There's a moment of silence, while Cato and I stare into each other's eyes. Cato leans forward, and brushes a piece of hair out of my face and puts it behind my ear before pressing his lips against mine. I instantly move my left hand behind his neck. As he moves above me, I move down on the bed. Our lips moving in perfect synchronization, and our kiss deepening. But then, just like that Cato gets up and quickly heads for the door. He says something while exiting, but I can't make it out.

**CATO'S POV**

I slam the door shut to my assigned room and smack my forehead and then punch the wall, "YOU IDIOT!" I yell. I kick the wall and feel myself losing control, "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?" I punch the wall again, this time harder. I don't notice Brutus come into the room until he yells, "CATO!" at me. By then, though, I'm already gone. My fist connects with Brutus's jaw. My nightstand drawer gets smashed against the wall. The curtains and rod are pulled down, the rod being thrown straight at Brutus, who catches it. I kick the wall again. I feel something stab my neck. Shit, not this again.

**CLOVE'S POV**

I pound my right fist against the shower wall, and leave it there. I lean my left arm on the wall near my fist, and lean my forehead on my arm. The hot water pouring down on my flesh. I suppress a tear that dares to fall. I can't cry. I can't be weak. I just can't. I have to be Strong. Pull it together. I stay in the shower in that same position for a half an hour, thinking about Cato, the Games, reminding myself that I have to be Strong. Because I am Strong.

**CATO'S POV**

I wake up, "Fuck," I say, "What happened?" I look around expecting to see Brutus or someone at least, but there is no one. I hear the door open and glance over at it.

"Glad to see you're up now," says Brutus, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

I think for a moment. What did happen? Then, I remember. "I'm a fucking idiot," I say.

"How come?" asks Brutus in his disapproving sounding voice.

"I shouldn't have done that."

"What are you talking about?" asks Brutus demandingly.

I don't want to tell Brutus about what happened, but I know he isn't going to give up questioning until I do tell him, and I'm not crafty enough to make up a lie. "I kissed Clove. I fucking kissed her. We're going to be enemies and I fucking kissed her."

"Don't tell me there is going to be more than one Lover Boy in this arena," says Brutus.

What I say next isn't meant for Brutus, but more for myself, "I love her."

"How'd you manage to pull that one off?" asks Brutus disbelievingly.

I look at Brutus. I know he is my mentor, but I don't want to listen to him anymore, "Get the hell out. I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"Suit yourself," says Brutus, "But it doesn't matter if you love her, you're still going to have to kill her."

After Brutus closes the door, I say to myself, "I'm not going to kill her." Kissing her was a huge setback in my game plan, but if I don't have anymore setbacks, then maybe it will work.

**CLOVE'S POV**

I stare at the lower part of the wall in my dark room. I can't sleep. My mind is too cluttered. Why did I let Cato do that? Why? All that hard work on my strategy was just demolished in a matter of seconds by him. I'm not prepared to kill Cato at all.


	8. Chapter 8: Let the Games Begin

**A/N: **I will probably update on Sunday next week, because it's my birthday next Friday. What did you readers think of The Hunger Games movie? I thought it was fantastic! The acting was phenomenal. Oh, and if you have a Tumblr, then you should send me your url in a PM or something, or recommend some blogs to me. I would appreciate that. I don't know when I will check them out, but I will, and there's a good chance I will follow. So, yeah, and thanks for reading! =)

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><p><strong>CATO'S POV<strong>

When I wake up, the memories of the previous night fill my head. The interviews, the talk, the kiss. At least one of them fit into my plan, but the other two should not have occurred. They were interferences in my plan, setbacks. What was I thinking, though? I can't show Clove anymore affection. She has to believe my performance without any doubt. That is the most vital thing, because if she doesn't believe it, then it won't work, and if it doesn't work, then...no, I don't want to think about that. It has to work. At least there's Glimmer to help make it work, but she can't know either. She also has to be convinced. Everyone has to be convinced.

**CLOVE'S POV**

Once the tracker is placed inside my arm, I am no longer frozen by the ladder. I'm in a hovercraft on my way to the Launch Room. What I've been working towards my whole life is almost here. Bittersweet. Once I step inside the arena, Cato's and my fate are sealed. Only one of us can live. Will live. My stylist, Yeven, is brought up into the hovercraft and we are escorted to a room of food. My last meal before the Games.

When my tribute outfit arrives, Yeven gives me my tribute token. The necklace my father gave me. Three throwing knives in front of the District 2 seal. "I was told this was your token."

I take the token out of Yeven's hand. I have to win the Games. For my father. For my district. For me.

"Since the knives are dull, it passed through inspection fairly easily. One tribute lost her token and another almost lost hers."

Hmph. Idiots. "Which moronic tributes were they?"

"Glimmer and Katniss." Go figure. The slut and the whore. "Glimmer's ring had a poison spike hidden in it. So, it was classified as a weapon, not a token," says Yeven. He gives me my arena outfit, "Do you want me to help you, or do you have this?"

"I can take care of myself," I say with a sharp edge to my voice.

"Don't be too arrogant, you may need some help in the arena," advises Yeven.

"Please. I can take everyone. Easily."

"A little help doesn't hurt. Plus, I'm sure you are going to need it." What does he think I am? A helpless child? The District 11 girl?

"I have a fucking alliance. Okay?" I don't need my alliance, and I as sure as hell could take care of myself if I needed to.

"Watch your back in the arena, you never know when someone will turn."

"I know what I'm fucking doing. I was born and raised for the Games. I'm meant for this shit."

"I knew that. I just wanted to get you riled up before the Games started," smirks Yeven.

"You did a fucking good job, then," I snap.

"You should get into your arena gear now," suggests Yeven.

"You can get the fuck out of here then. I don't need you watching me." I don't do free shows. If you want one, see the Glimmer-Slut.

"Let me know when you're ready," says Yeven exiting the room.

I put on my outfit, which consists of cargo pants, a maroon shirt, boots, and a jacket. "Done!" I yell.

"Fantastic!" says Yeven, waltzing back into the room. "How does it feel? Pratice as if you were throwing knives."

I pretend to throw a few knives, aiming right at Yeven. Head. Neck. Heart. "It'll do."

"Judging by the material, I would say the days will be hot and the nights cold." No shit.

A voice belonging to a female announces that it is launch time.

I step into the glass cylinder, and hear Yeven say, "At least try to make it out of the bloodbath."

_Try to make it out of the bloodbath? _Oh, I'll make it out of the bloodbath. I'll make it out of the whole fucking Games. Just you wait. Just you Fucking wait.

Once the glass cylinder raises me into the arena, I hear the voice of Claudius Templesmith, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

There's sixty seconds before the Games truly begin. There's a pile of knives near the Cornucopia's mouth. Fire Bitch is about six platforms away. You're going to be dead soon, Fire Bitch. You're all going to be fucking dead soon. Count on it. I locate my alliance members. From what I can tell, we're spread out pretty good.

I set my gaze on my knives. This is it. This is what I've trained for. This is what I live for. This is what my whole life is about. This is what I was born to do. And I'm not going to disappoint. I'm going to show them all just how fucking Strong I am. I look over at the Bitch On Fire and follow her gaze, but I can't tell what it is she is looking at. There are too many items. It's got to be a weapon. But which one? I have no fucking idea.

I put my gaze back on my knives. Compose yourself Clove. You got this. Remember what you're here for. To Win. Anyone standing in your way, what do you do? Kill them. Cato is in your way, so kill Cato. Simple. Don't you dare forget it. The next voice in my head isn't mine, its Cato's. _I don't want to kill you either. _No. Get out of my head. I'm Strong. Not Weak. I will kill you. I will. Compose yourself. I am here to Kill. I'm here to Win. To show I'm better than them all. That I am Strong.

When the gong sounds, I don't waste anytime to rush as fast as I can to the knives. I pick them up and immediately start rushing towards the Fire Whore, or who I at least think is the Bitch On Fire. I throw a knife at the tribute fighting with the presumed Fire Bitch over a backpack. The tribute is blocking my view from telling exactly who the person is, but when my knife strikes his back and he falls to the ground, I see that it is indeed Twelve Bitch. As she runs for the forest, I throw a knife, aimed right for the unprotected back of her neck. "Fuck," I say when she pulls the backpack up, and the knifes hits it instead. I hesitate for second, considering on following her, but figure I will get her later.

Back at the Cornucopia, there are already a few corpses. Looks like I missed some of the fun. Two tributes are trying to fight Cato. Though, I am sure he has them, I toss a knife at the female's head. As she slumps to the ground, Cato beheads the male. "Clove, watch it!" yells Marvel. I turn and see his spear whizzing towards me. Instinctively, I roll out of the way, and hear the sweet sound of spear against flesh. Death.

"You almost killed me Jackass!" I yell back at Marvel. I do a quick look-over of the area on this side of the Cornucopia. Besides Cato, Marvel, and me, they're all dead.

I hear a screech of "Rush!" from Morgan, and the three of us sprint to the Cornucopia's other side. Glimmer and Morgan are surrounded by four tributes, and a lifeless Rush lies on the ground next to them. They both have short swords. What the hell is their problem? They're careers, they should be able to kill these tributes with ease. Where the fuck is Bread Boy? I throw a knife at the back of a guy's head, and Marvel throws a spear, while Cato continues to sprint to the group. Both of our weapons connect with the flesh of our victims. Sensing they are outnumbered, the other tributes try to make a run for it. They don't get too far. Cato hacks off one of their heads, and Morgan makes herself of some use by throwing her sword, and actually hitting the fleeing tribute.

"Thanks," says Glimmer in her typical slut-like way, "I could have died right there, and you're so good with your sword." She runs her hand along Cato's body. Oh no you don't. Bitch.

Before I snap at Bimbo-Glimmer and do something that will get me killed, Marvel says, "Where's Lover Boy?"

"Yeah, where the fuck is Lover Boy," says Cato. He looks at Glimmer, "You let him in this alliance, so where the fuck is he?"

"I'm right here," says Lover Boy, who is holding a spear, and walking from the other side of the Cornucopia.

"What were you accomplishing over there?" says Marvel.

"I was getting help, but I was a little late." explains Lover Boy.

"So, you just stayed over there being a complete waste of space that whole time?" I ask.

"I made sure the bodies were all dead," says Bread Boy.

"Of course they were dead. We killed them," I snap. Does he really think we're that sloppy?

"If you're that much of an expert, then tell me. Were they dead?" interrogates Cato.

"They were."

"Now that we got that out of that way. Let's gather up all the weapons." commands Marvel.

Cato shoots back at Marvel immediately, "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm leading this pack." Bullshit. I'm running this joint.

"I think not. If anyone is, it's me," says Cato.

Except for Lover Boy and Morgan, the whole alliance breaks out into a dispute on who should lead the pack. Glimmer says that Cato should. Marvel thinks he should. But obviously I should. Because I could kick all their asses. Easily.

"Everyone just calm the fuck down!" yells Cato eventually.

"Says you, Mr. Half-insane," I quip.

"You're just as sane as I am," retorts Cato.

"I've never hospitalized someone unintentionally. You lose yourself. I don't."

"So, you intentionally broke Mace's nose? Huh? I guess that's not surprising since you're a psychobitch."

Marvel asks, "Anyone have popcorn?" No. No one has any fucking popcorn.

"I'm the psychobitch? Then what are you? The psychodick? You're just as bloodthristy as me!"

"Psychodick? That's real creative of you. What are you going to call me next? Huh? What about-"

Lover Boy interjects, saying, "Can we stop fighting?"

Marvel jeers back at him with "Shut it Dough Boy. This is starting to get good."

"Keep out of this Lover Boy," shouts Cato.

"No. We can be more civilized about this. Why don't we take a vote?" puts in Wonder Bread.

"Fine. We'll take a vote," complies Cato. "What idiots think Marvel should the squad captain?" Besides Marvel, who claims no one voting for him is an idiot, there is no one who shows anything indicating they want him to lead. "The psychobitch?"

"I'm not the psychobitch. I'm Clove." No one besides me seems to want my guidance. Fucking Idiots. No wonder I'm going to win.

"No, you're the psychobitch. What about Lover Boy over there. Anyone want to get killed because of his stupidity? How about Glimmer? Morgan? Me and all my glory?" Glimmer, Lover Boy, and Morgan all indicate in some way, whether it be saying "Me" or raising a hand, to show they want Cato as squad captain. Morons.

"You don't have any glory," I spit at Cato, "None whatsoever."

"Oh look, someone's jealous." mocks Cato.

"Of you? Please."

Lover Boy asks, "Can we just get to gathering the weapons now?" before Cato and I break into another argument.

We gather the weapons from all the dead tributes first before picking up the uncollected ones around the Cornucopia. They are all placed in a nice pile.

"Let's set up camp near the lake." states Cato, so we move all of the supplies down by the lake.

By this time the cannons are going off. Eleven. The same as Bitch On Fire's training score. Once we finish moving all the supplies down by the lake the hovercraft come to pick up all the cadavers.

I pick out some food to eat, which is an apple, jerky, and some bar thing. I sit with my back leaning against a tree and watch the others while I eat. I could kill them all right now if I wanted to, but that would be foolish of me. Cato is comparing three different swords before deciding which one he wants to carry with him. Marvel and Morgan are eating and talking. Glimmer is doing what she does best: Being a Slut. But as she flirts with Cato, I can't tell if he is flirting back or not. The sight angers me, and when I finish my food, I jump to my feet. What is up with Cato? Last night he kissed me and told me he didn't want to kill me, but now he's flirting with Glimmer. I pick up my pile of throwing knives and walk towards over to the supplies. I grab the vest that I found in the Cornucopia's mouth, and try it on. It fits. Perfectly. I sit down by Lover Boy and cautiously line the inside of the vest with my knives.

I hold up the smallest knife, which has a nice curve to it, and ask Lover Boy with a brutal smile, "This one would be nice for facial reconstruction. What do you think?"

Instead of answering my question, Lover Boy asks me "Did you know Cato back in District 2?"

"Why do you care?" Seriously. I'm not going to tell you all about my life. Bread Boy.

"I was just wondering. When you two were arguing it sounded like you did." I carefully put a blade into my vest before grabbing another blade and insert it in a one of the vest's modified pocket sheaths.

"Let me tell you something about life. You're born. You're raised. You fight. You win. You're revered." Why am I wasting my time talking to him.

"What if you don't fight?"

"Then you don't win," I respond.

"Is that what it's all about then? Winning?" No shit. You don't fight, you don't win. You don't win, you're not revered. It's not that hard.

I finish putting the last knife in my vest, and stand up. "No one wants to lose, do they?"


End file.
